Blind
by Awsomeangel
Summary: It will be okay. It will be okay. Lukas chanted it over and over, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. Companian/somewhat prequal to I'd Give You the World (if you could actually see it) Sequal to Ashes to Ashes


Warnings: Extreme OOC, no, seriously. Yandere bro-complex Norway who takes it out on poor Denmark, who was trying to be nice.  
Finland: Finny  
Sweden: Berwald, Swe  
Norway: Nor, Lukas  
Denmark: Matthias  
Iceland: Ice, Emil

Lukas jumped back, ignoring the blood splattering his uniform. Fighting, battles, those sort of things were always bloody, though this one seemed more so than most. Over and over again, the strands of grass, standing tall despite the weight of the snow, were painted with splashes of red, like brilliant crimson flowers scattered messily against the pale, cold ground. unused to the icy wind of the north. It was cold, as usual, and the icy wind of the north blew the powdered, red-stained snow wildly, until the air was filled with the scent of blood, disgusting and metallic against one's tongue.

Lukas was usually the strategist. He always was, always had been, even before the castle, the fine clothing and good food, even back on the sludgy waste-filled streets, when he had pushed his own tiny crumbs of food into his baby brother's small, cold hands. But, this fight was different. It was special. Special enough to bring his broadsword out of it's glass case, into his hands, and onto the battlefield. This was the final fight after many, the one fight that would determine the life of their kingdom. No battle after this, no war could possibly be this decisive, this bloody, this painful.

Lukas lunged forward, broadsword raised high, and slashed down with a feral hiss, magic-enforced steel easily slicing through the flimsy, man-made metal of his opponents curved weapon. It wasn't long before the sharp edge met and tore through flesh, the sickening crunch of cracking bone resounding once again. He lifted his sword with a grimace, yanking it out of it's place, lodged deep in his stunned opponents skull. Short strands of brown hair fell all around the other man, severed by the blow, and Lukas looked away, his head jerking from instinct as he fought the urge to retch. Out of all the people he had tortured and killed, not a single one had he pitied, and this wasn't going to be the first. The familiar brown eyes, nearly obscured by the white mask, that stared up at the sky, glazed over like a dead fish's' didn't make any sort of emotion well up in him, didn't bring back memories of those same eyes, animated and laughing and kind against a weathered brown face. He definitely couldn't feel the warmth of the bigger fingers against his own, the weight of scepter being passed into his small hand, far too heavy for his skinny, childish arm, clear and sparkling cleanly in his trembling, frost-bitten grip. This man meant nothing, was nothing, nothing more than a distraction.

And wasn't that Lukas' job, getting rid of distractions?

"Lukas." The boy, Lukas, looked up as Matthias, blue eyes blank, grin as bright as ever bounded towards him, battle axe too big for most people to even lift swinging carelessly at his side. "We're finally done, huh? Too bad we were ambushed, it would have been nice to fight closer to home, the walk back's gonna be painful!"

He laughed at his own comment, running gloved fingers through wild blonde hair in a half-hearted attempt to wring out the blood, his wide, sunny smile not dampening a bit as Lukas glared at him fiercely, not even wavering when Lukas promptly elbowed him in the gut. Lukas was sure, sure that Matthias was provoking him, despite his laughing tone, because he knew little, defenseless Emil was there, knew it would be that much easier for their past teacher, their current enemy to break through if they were so close to his little Emil's safehold.

His voice was soft, steady and betrayed no emotion as he spoke, but his words were deadly. "If there is even a slight possibility of Emil being harmed in this useless, godforsaken war, I will personally-" He was cut off by a laugh, traces of nervousness in the otherwise light-hearted sound. "Calm down, Nor, Ice's my little bro as much as he is yours, I wouldn't…" He trailed off and withered slightly under Lukas' vicious glower, letting his axe rest lightly on the ground as he sighed.

"Fine, Nor, have it your way. I'll call Berwald and Finny and we'll leave, yeah?" Lukas ignored him, turning away as Matthias foraged onwards, in search of the other two in the party who had accompanied them. They weren't hard to find, having finished only a few moments before in the forest further onwards, and Finny skipped forward, before Berwald, baby blue eyes bright with exhilaration as he went, dripping suspiciously chunky blood onto the dirty frosted grass.

"Ah, that was fun!" Finny swung his silver club back into the leather pouch at his side, his smile wide and sweet as he spoke. "I didn't think they would struggle that much though."

He ignored Matthias' affronted remark of, "You were lucky to get the servants, I had to take on their leader!" And spoke again without turning around, addressing the taller one behind him.

"Right, Sve?" Berwald made a 'hmm' sound as he strode behind Finny, keeping his steps almost comically small, as not to overtake the smaller blond. He towered over Finny, over all of them, and his eyes, blue, like the rest of them, were narrowed in a sullen glare, nearly obscured by a pair of metal-framed eyeglasses. It wasn't as if he was angry, that was simply the way he looked. Lukas couldn't say he was completely used to it yet, despite the good five years they had lived and fought next to each other, but even with the glare and the height, Berwald was a good allie, one that would never harm his baby brother, his Emil.

So, he concluded, it was fine.

Lukas trailed behind the group as Denmark strode in the front, confident that they would follow him. Finny was whispering and giggling to himself as he skipped in the middle, eyes clouded, his arms swinging loosely at his side. He would be coming out of his high soon, and god knows how long he would carry on, horrified at his own brutal actions in battle. But, that was normal, he would recover, just as he always did. Berwald lagged behind with Lukas, quietly but carefully watching over the unstable Finnish male in front of him, and Lukas could clearly hear his footsteps crunching softly in the ice, surprisingly light for someone of his height, along with the padded thud of his staff, the blood on it long since dried into a dull brown crust.

The journey back was silent, save for Finny's soft whispers, and Lukas sent out a quick thanks to every god he could think of for Finny's apparent mental stability. All the legions of hell couldn't force him to carry an, unstable, weeping lump of blonde idiot back to the place they now lived.

They approached the palace gates on foot. It wasn't a war they were in, after all, it was simply a fight. An important one, but not enough to bring neither horses nor army. Lukas imagined the people must think it strange, that the four kings would go out personally for some petty fight, but with all the perks of being king, Lukas still remembered when he couldn't turn around without fear of being stabbed or kicked, and that memory was still far, far too strong. The thoughts of the people, no matter how important, weren't of his concern. That was more Matthias, with his laughter and his charisma.

The gold plated gates swung open at their arrival. Lukas strode forward, quickly moving to the front of their ragged group, expectant. It wasn't long before a small shape barreled across the path to the castle, small feet pitter-pattering against the hard grey stone.

"Stóri bróðir! Stóri bróðir!" The small shape laughed giddily as it latched onto Lukas' bloody cloak, wide violet eyes staring up at him, waiting. Lukas scooped his baby brother up, his brother's red velvet hat nearly falling off from the sudden movement. Small hands clung to his tunic tightly, tighter than the strangulating grip of any enemy soldier, stronger than any sense of loyalty Lukas had felt for his 'family', his 'brothers' or his 'kingdom', and Lukas smiled slightly, a curl of his lips and a flash of light in his eyes that went unnoticed by all, as he pressed his forehead against Emil's, chuckling as Emil pulled away with a yelp of surprise.

As long as Emil was safe and away from harm, there wasn't a single thing to worry about. He repeated the mantra until the words blurred together.

It will be okay. It will be okay. It will be okay.  
And strangely enough, repeated so many times, it was almost as if Lukas was trying to convince himself.

 **The full story isn't actually NorIce, Norge's just** **got an unhealthy yandere bro-complex is all. If anything, I'd say there's hints of DenNor, as long as Den doesn't poke the sleeping lion that is Iceland's safety and isolation.**


End file.
